Post Script

They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I'm not sure if I agree. This morning I had a bowl of oatmeal (not a wonderful, soft, and subtle English Muffin) and it did nothing for me. NOTHING. Within minutes of eating my blueberry oat paste I was hungry again. And I'm talking really hungry. So I did the only thing a normal person would do; I gorged on whatever I could find as soon as I got to work pretty much right up until lunch.

Now who cares right? I suppose I don't in the grand scheme. But right now, at quarter to three in the afternoon I'm ready to pass out. I blame that friggin oatmeal. Had it just done it's job I wouldn't be in this mess. Thanks oatmeal, you're on my list.

An Open Letter to My English Muffin

Sometimes things just work out. Sometimes, just when the dark starts pushing in and you don't feel like you will ever see the light again, a bright line cuts through the clouds and reminds you that, yes, everything is going to be alright. Sometimes it's not a light at all, sometimes it's an English Muffin - like this one right here - that gives you the strength to carry on.

Allow me to say this my friend: You. Are. Awesome.

The perfect sponginess as I pulled you from the bag eloquently transferred to perfect golden toasting after a minute-forty-five in the toaster oven. A few sweeps of honey-butter and a light glaze of raspberry (seedless) jam later and suddenly the morning wasn't so bad. Suddenly the world seemed less cold. A few bites into this glorious roll and I realized that no amount of temp related, intern-idot fueled, hypercaffeinated panic could toss a wrench in my gears. Oh, no today is for me, and damn it, it's because of you English Muffin.

You are a credit to your race, and I salute you.

An Open Letter to Blogger

Hi Blogger, we’ve met a few times in the past, but it was under a different name. I’ve tried the blog thing before and as predicted I just didn’t have the stones for it. But I got a kick out of our time together Blogger, and I figure if you’ll have me, I’d like to give it a shot again.

A lot has changed around here since we last spoke. First of all, congratulations on the Google thing. I was just commenting to a friend of mind that the one thing I needed in life was another email address. He had said, yeah, but the only way I’d ever get one is if someone forced me. We laughed at the idea of a company making it necessary to get a new email address in order to use a free service. Well I suppose the last laugh is on me now. I’d have to say that looking around the place things are bit more streamlined, which is always good. Unless of course you enjoy the baroque sensibilities of blind links and surveys, miscoded pictures and strange directions for hosting video. I did, but I’m strange.

It's always strange when you start fresh in someplace new. School, work, a new apartment, it doesn't matter. It's hard to get used to a new place while all you can think about is the old place. The old place might be an apartment with paper thin walls with neighbors who fight constantly in languages you can't even identify, with carpet like cardboard, and a smell that is maddeningly indescribable. And this is not a normal smell, this is a smell that forces you to invent creative multi-hyphenate descriptions in order to explain it to outsiders you are warning as they enter the apartment for the first time. Things like rotten egg-foot sweat, or old beef-used diaper. Earthy.

The point is, you might not like the old place, but you can’t help but get sentimental because despite the problems you may have had once, for a time that place was yours.

But that is the past now, and it’s time to look forward. I hope that in working together we can make something special. In the absence of something special, I would be happy to make something with passable grammar. In the absence of passable grammar I guess I would settle for okay grammar and help with my crippling homonym problem. That doesn’t seem impossible does it? I don’t think so, but I can’t wait to find out.